


These Scars of Yours

by Wxlves



Series: Wxlves' Ridiculous Modern AU Codywan Oneshots [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: (kind of), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual CT-7567 | Rex, CT-7567 | Rex is a Good Bro, Cody's a firefighter, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Homophobia, In Vino Veritas, Internalized Homophobia, Jango Fett is a shitty dad, Korkie Kenobi Confirmed, M/M, Obi-Wan's a paramedic, Sexuality Crisis, but that's pretty much canon anwyays, part 3 of my mission to make the clones anything but police/military
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29698242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wxlves/pseuds/Wxlves
Summary: It was with a sudden, wrenching clarity that Cody realized the point behind Rex’s earlier questions. That lying sheb'urcyn had told him nothing happened at 79’s, though Cody wouldn’t consider loose lips and unbidden, drunken love confessions to be nothing.He didn’t lift his head from the steering wheel even as that word clanged through him, discordant and unfamiliar.Love.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Past Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze - Relationship
Series: Wxlves' Ridiculous Modern AU Codywan Oneshots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2102322
Comments: 16
Kudos: 121





	These Scars of Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a translations (in order):  
> Hu’tuun — coward (the worst insult for a Mandalorian)  
> Di’kut — idiot  
> Ne’Johaa — shut up  
> Vodi’ka — little brother/sister (affectionate)  
> Utreekov — dummy, fool (usually affectionate)  
> sheb’urcyn — ass-kisser (insult)  
> Ne mirsh solus — You’re dumb (lit: your brain cell is lonely)  
> Burc’ya — friend  
> Cyare — dearest/dear

“Cody, you know you can talk to me, right?”

Cody, halfway into his coat, froze, his attention shifting to his _vod_. The question was seemingly out of nowhere — Cody on his way out of the station, Rex just arriving for the overnight shift — but he had a feeling he knew what prompted it.

“What did I say?”

Rex’s concern shifted to a baffled expression. “Huh?”

“When we were together at 79’s last night, drunk. What did I say?”

“Nothing,” Rex was quick to reassure. Cody raised a skeptical brow. Though he had no actual memories of the night to found his judgments on, he didn’t believe him. Rex’s lies held up about as well as a piece of flimsi under the faucet, and even hungover as he was, Cody could see Rex was hiding something.

“Look, it’s just—we never talk like we used to. We were closest in age and we shared _everything,_ Kote. What changed?”

 _Besides the fact that_ Cody _didn't even know what was going on in his own head anymore?_

“We’re not kids anymore, Rex, and it’s no longer just the two of us. We both have other people we can look to.” Wincing, Cody wished instantly that he’d said _anything_ else. The words, meant to be a comfort, came out far more callous than he intended, Rex barely hiding his flinch.

“You don’t trust me.” It wasn’t a question.

Cody let his eyes fall shut for a long moment. Nothing was coming out right and it was late and his head still ached like it had become a krayt-dragon’s stomping grounds. “I trust you more than anyone, Rex, but we now have friends, other siblings… it’s not only me, you and Ja—”

“Hey…”

“ — me, you, and the _hu'tuun_.” Cody finished. Despite himself, he cracked a smile at Fett Rule Number One: Never refer to Jango by name. It was likely the only rule Rex had strictly adhered to in twenty-five years of life. “But like I was saying, it’s not just us. You and Tano regularly cause chaos together, and I know how much you like Skywalker.”

Rex’s brows shot towards his bleach-blond harline. “How?”

“How what?”

“How’d you know about Skywalker?”

Cody blinked several times. “Because I work with the both of you, _di'kut_ . You’re clearly joined at the—” Realization hit like a slap to the face and Cody couldn’t help but laugh, ignoring the way the movement scraped at the inside of his skull. “You _like_ him. Really, Rex, a married man? I didn’t peg you as a homewrecker.”

Rex’s face went scarlet. “Not anymore, _Kote!_ _Ne'Johaa!"_ He could, apparently, still manage to sound like a petulant child, old as he was.

“My own _vodi'ka_ and the Assistant Fire Chief… who would have thought.”

Rex, still red-faced, laughed, and Cody thought for a moment he’d been successful in his distraction. His brother sobered quickly, however, that anxious line reappearing across his forehead. “Do you remember when I came out to you?”

“Of course I do.” How could he forget? Rex had been so worried, but Cody had pulled him close afterwards and told him, in no uncertain terms, that nothing he could ever do or say would make him stop loving him. Jango’s love had been far more conditional, though only Cody had suffered the brunt of that.

“You said you were glad the _hu'tuun_ had pretty much fucked off by the time I was struggling with my sexuality.”

Cody gave his brother a wry smile. “In those exact words, huh?” He did, in fact, remember saying something along those lines, though he preferred to think he’d been a bit more delicate with the wording.

“I’m paraphrasing,” Rex admitted. “But Cody, you were the only one of us to live all your formative years under that man’s ‘care.’ You went right from being the ward of a shitty parent to _being_ a parent of six, there for us every step of the way. From dirty diapers to skinned knees to sexuality crises to behavioral problems. I don’t know how you even _did_ it.”

“I had you for most of it,” Cody gently reminded him. After all, Rex was only five years younger; by the time the third-youngest, the twins, had been dumped on them, Rex was already in high school. Waxer and Boil had been absolute terrors to behold when their mother passed away and they were sent to the Fetts — _they're nice girls,_ Cody had heard at too many teacher conferences, unfailingly followed by a _but._ Without Rex, and then without the twins to help with the youngest three, Cody would have been locked up in a padded room with a straightjacket by age twenty.

“Have you ever taken time for yourself?”

The question took Cody aback. “Of course. When I come off a night shift I—”

“Extended time, _utreekov._ I don’t mean twenty minutes before bed, I mean a week, a month, to stop worrying about everyone else and think about what _you_ want?” On reflex, Cody opened his mouth to scoff that yes, he has.

He shut it again. No, he hasn’t.

Rex finally turned away, shaking his head, focusing on the dial of his locker. “Go home and get some sleep, _vod_ , and for fuck’s sake, think on what I’m telling you. If you can’t talk to me, at least find someone else. Maybe Kenobi, he’s a great listener and at this point he’s practically family.”

If Cody didn’t know Rex so well he would have missed the barely-there pause before Kenobi’s name. Too tired to parse it out, he only rubbed one hand over his brow. “Thank you, Rex.”

“Well, what are brothers for?”

Twenty minutes later Cody was pulled over on the side of the road, halfway home, patting his pockets down and muttering Mando’a vulgarities that would have gotten his mouth washed out with soap.

_Where was it, where was it, where—_

He had a sudden mental image of his phone, faceup in the station kitchenette where he’d put it down and never picked it back up. With a quiet growl of frustration he pulled an (illegal) u-turn across the southbound lane, making his way back to the firestation. He could hear gentle snoring from the bunks where an unlucky few stayed on night shift — Skywalker and Waxer tonight, if he recalled correctly. 

Nearing the kitchenette, Rex’s voice floated out to him; unsurprising considering the man’s practically nocturnal sleep schedule, but hearing his own name gave Cody pause.

“Cody started out by saying, ‘You know I love you, right?’”

“Fuck.” The second voice, Trapper’s by the sound of it, had the tinny quality of someone on speaker phone.

“Yeah, _fuck_ is right.” Cody could practically see the weary look on Rex’s face. Pushing down the feeling that he should turn around and forget his phone until tomorrow, he crept closer to the door. “He starts saying all this stuff about how he has no issue with my liking guys, or girls, or whoever, whenever, whatever… drunk Cody does _not_ mince words.”

Trapper snorted in amusement from the other end of the line, even as cold dread settled in Cody’s gut. If this was going where he thought it might, he _really_ did not want to hear about it.

“I wasn’t exactly sober myself, which was probably the only way I put up with the rambling,” Rex continued. “He goes on to start talking about—” He got quieter and Cody lost a few words, loud again in time for him to hear, “Jango fucked him up, Trapper, he fucked him up _good._ I don’t need him to be drunk and spilling his guts to know he _loves_ this guy, and he won’t let himself _fucking_ have it because—”

It was no longer an effort to hear Rex, his voice rising in anger as he spoke until he abruptly cut himself off. A loud _thunk_ followed his outburst, along with something quieter from Trapper that Cody couldn’t pick out.

It didn’t matter; he’d heard enough. Spinning on his heel, Cody abandoned his phone in favor of hurrying back to his car. He didn’t do anything so undignified as _run_ , but it was a near thing as he rushed from the station, slamming the car door behind him and letting his head fall onto the wheel.

It was with a sudden, wrenching clarity that Cody realized the point behind Rex’s earlier questions. That lying _sheb'urcyn_ had told him nothing happened at 79’s, though Cody wouldn’t consider loose lips and unbidden, drunken love confessions to be _nothing._

He didn’t lift his head from the steering wheel even as that word clanged through him, discordant and unfamiliar.

_Love._

It was something he’d long struggled with. His relationships rarely lasted long, and whether they ended in anger, acceptance, or grief, he was always left with the distinct impression that the fault lay with him. Eventually, it had become easier to lose himself in desperate touches and forgotten faces, long nights that, for all their simplicity, drained him. “This isn’t you, Cody,” Rex had said from the couch one night, the television’s light casting his face in a harsh glow as he sat up, looking at him with something akin to pity.

Cody, finally returning to the house as the sky lightened in the east, had only growled, “Go to bed, _vod'ika_.”

Accepting he was attracted to Kenobi wasn’t an entirely foreign concept — his sharp wit, his level head, his dry humor that always seemed to come out at inopportune moments… Cody would be surprised if _anyone_ at the station wasn’t harboring a crush on Kenobi, firefighters, paramedics, or otherwise. But _love?_

When Rex came out to Cody, he’d held his brother close, reassuring. When Waxer brought her first girlfriend home Cody hadn’t even blinked, he just laid out another table setting and held Boil back from delivering her truly terrifying shovel talk. When Wooley told him they didn’t feel particularly like a boy, he’d gently reminded his sibling that _vod_ meant _vod,_ disregarding gender in true Mando fashion.

And yet, for all that, Cody had pushed down his own feelings, Jango’s derisive words like an old war wound that ached when rains fell. For how fiercely he hated the man, a part of him still wavered at the thought of his disapproval.

One particular night remained vivid in his memory, his vitriolic dislike entwined with the helpless need for Jango’s validation to form a twisted knot deep in his stomach.

He’d been twenty-four and had just brought his girlfriend back to the Fett house when Jango appeared, as he was wont to do from time to time. Like a demented jack-in-the-box, always there whenever it was least convenient, usually scaring someone else off in the process.

His siblings were all out that night (per Cody’s request) and he felt some relief that they wouldn’t have to deal with the man. Cody’s date appeared surprised at Jango’s sudden entrance but the _hut’uun_ _’s_ greeting was disarmingly casual.

" _Kote,_ my son, will you not introduce us?”

“Jango, this is Kartha. Kartha, meet my father.” If she noticed the way Cody’s jaw tightened, she didn’t comment, turning away from the movie before them to warily shake Jango’s hand.

“It’s lovely to meet you.” Jango knew how to be charming, Cody would give him that. “Have you two been together long?”

They exchanged a glance. “Almost a month,” Cody answered for her.

Enthused, Jango’s smile widened. “How wonderful.” His sudden attempt at niceties was unnerving, and Cody eyed him with suspicion as he added, “You know, Cody never brought anyone home for the longest time. I was beginning to think he’d never date again.”

A furious blush rose to Cody’s cheeks, a potent mix of rage and embarrassment that even Kartha couldn’t fail to notice. She placed her hand on his knee in a comforting gesture even as she gave a polite laugh at Jango’s intended levity. Her effort was appreciated, if futile.

“Jango—” Cody finally caught the alcohol on his breath and he tensed further. Jango was unpleasant when sober, but a downright dangerous drunk. He had never lifted a hand to any of them, ever, but snide words became lethal when alcohol loosened his tongue.

“I’m just proud of you, son.” Staggering a step forward, Jango’s expression turned beseeching. Kartha’s eyes narrowed slightly, Cody making an aborted move to pull away. Over two decades of dealing with his father had given him a sixth sense for when conversations were about to go south and as Jango opened his mouth again, he wished Kartha weren’t here to see this.

“You’ve done well for yourself. Much better than some of your siblings, especially that _brother_ of yours.” Cody knew just what siblings he referred to, and the stress Jango put on the word _brother_ made it abundantly clear who he was talking about — Wooley.

Cody could have killed him just for that, just for the blatant disrespect, but in a horrible, heart-rending moment his eyes landed on the entrance to the kitchen. A familiar figure, taller and leaner than their siblings, formed a silhouette in the doorway, a darker mass against the unlit room behind them.

Wooley had been out at a friend’s house but they must have left something, must have thought they could come quietly through the back door and not disturb Cody. And now—

Cody stood so fast blood rushed from his head — or perhaps the room spun thanks to the rage that whited out his vision. A snarl twisted his lips, ugly, frightening, and he stepped into Jango’s space; he was shorter than the man, but age had long since stripped the muscled breadth from Jango’s shoulders. “Get out of my house.”

The name on the lease _was_ still Jango’s, but that fact seemed inconsequential in the face of Cody’s seething fury. With only a slight curl of his upper lip Jango fled, and Cody turned to find the couch where Kartha had sat now vacated. Assuming she’d slipped out quietly, he headed for the back door where Wooley had undoubtedly vanished — only to find both of them in the kitchen. Kartha stood at the stove, boiling water for tea, Wooley leaning against the counter in a slouch that might have been called _nonchalant_ if Cody didn’t know his sibling better.

With nothing to say and nothing he could do, Cody dropped onto a stool, burying his face in his hands. He needed to check on Wooley, and… and he’d _certainly_ need to talk to Kartha, now, but both tasks loomed equally daunting at the edge of his mind. Accepting the steaming mug from Kartha, he nodded in thanks. Wooley just shook their head at her offering.

“I’m okay. I think I’ll head back to Bly’s, actually.”

Cody gave Wooley a casual, two-fingered salute, a typical Fett goodbye. Wooley returned it, then was gone, screen door swinging shut behind them.

Kartha moved around the counter to settle in at the stool next to him. “Cody—”

“Kartha—” He said, at the same time. Both paused, laughing, before she motioned for him to speak.

“I’m truly sorry. I know my family can be a lot, even at the best of times, and _that_ was… almost as bad as it gets. I warned you, in the beginning, but I’m not sure what can prepare anyone for seeing that, up close and personal. I understand if it’s not what you signed up for.” He was finding it hard to meet her eyes, instead dropping his gaze to the sad smile on her lips.

Kartha’s hand, warm where it had been wrapped around her mug, ran through his hair. “I’d be foolish to run just because of family, Cody. Dealing with all that would be a fair tradeoff for _you."_

 _Would_ be.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’…”

Kartha’s smile grew sadder, if possible, even as her fingers trailed over Cody’s jaw to his chin. She tilted his head, almost too gentle as she forced him to meet her eyes. " _But_ I’m not sure you and I want the same thing.”

Cody jerked his chin from her grasp. He didn’t say anything, wouldn’t know _what_ to say. Tonight was finding him at a loss for words too often for his own taste.

“Sometimes… “ She paused, chewed her lip as she searched for the right words. “It feels like you’re going through the motions. Like you know what a relationship looks like and you’re… you’re emulating it.”

Practiced as he was at hiding his reactions, Cody couldn’t help a visible flinch at her words. They might have hurt worse, might have grated against his heartstrings, might have felt like a slap to the face if he hadn’t agonized over that very same thing. Perhaps Kartha’s precise phrasing made him sound more robotic than she intended (or perhaps she truly meant it) but he did _feel_ for her.

Her quiet countenance backed by a spine of steel, how quick she was to laugh, and how slow to anger. Her easy smile and her love for animals (the bigger and softer, the better) and her sharp intelligence. Even her lips, anywhere, _everywhere,_ making his blood run hot in his veins.

And yet, at other times a piece was missing, when their easy familiarity felt more like two friends than two lovers, when he’d throw an arm around her shoulders and she’d lean into his side and it could have been Tano or Rex in his embrace, for all the romance he felt.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

Pursing her lips as though hiding a smile, Kartha grasped both his hands in hers. " _Now_ what are you apologizing for?”

“I suppose I’ve been… unfair to you.”

“I don’t think you were, Cody, I do believe you genuinely _wanted_ to love me. We all just need a wakeup call sometimes.” She ducked her head, peering at him intently from under furrowed brows. “Have you ever…” Trailing off, she shook her head.

“What?” Cody pressed.

“Nothing.”

:-:-:-:-:-:-:

A distant car horn jarred Cody from his memories, landing him back in the present with a disturbing sense of vertigo as years of buried heartache rose to the surface.

Kenobi — Obi-Wan — bandaging Cody up after a call, his fingers deft and warm where they brushed his skin.

Obi-Wan’s hair, just long enough to be a nuisance, copper strands falling in front of his face while he bent over a patient and the near-irresistible urge to brush it back from his forehead.

Obi-Wan’s clipped Coruscanti accent falling into a looser, more drawling Stewjoni when the drinks set in, cheeks flushed redder than his beard even as he scolded Skywalker for drinking like a fish.

Cody _wanted_ in a way he never had before. He wanted to wake up next to Obi-Wan, to be able to soak in the warmth from his skin, to hear his voice, rough with sleep. He wanted to run his hands through that silken hair, to taste the pale skin of his throat, to map every freckle and scar on his body. He wanted so badly it hurt, and even the part of him that sought out what little affirmation Jango ever offered was silent.

_You know you can talk to me, right?_

_You've done well for yourself._

_But I'm not sure you and I want the same thing._

Cody liked to think he was above having a crisis while parked in front of his job, so he peeled out of the lot with no destination in mind. Simply being _away_ was enough, and the wind blowing in through the open windows felt as though it could wear away at his whirling thoughts if given enough time. On autopilot, he paid little attention to where he drove until he pulled alongside a yellow-painted curb and recognized the brick building looming above. It was an easy task to find that familiar balcony, seven up and three in from the right, light spilling out through the sliding glass doors that Cody knew opened into Obi-Wan’s tiny kitchen.

 _Ne mirsh solus,_ he scolded himself. So much for not thinking about the man.

Obi-Wan wasn’t on shift tonight, and considering the late hour it was more than likely he was home: nobody went out at eleven on a Tuesday, even among the infamously-rowdy Station 212 firefighters. Koon and Wolffe of 104 could be relied upon to follow 212 on their nights out, shaking their heads in exasperation as 327’s Secura outdrank them all with ease. The paramedics tended to be less inclined to drink themselves under the table, but Kix and Obi-Wan, when they put their minds to it, could hold alarming amounts of liquor.

Cody was going to be gray by the time he hit forty and most of the blame would lie with his karking coworkers.

A shadow moved through the light on the balcony, reminding Cody what a creep he was being, and he considered calling Obi-Wan before he remembered the reason for this entire shit-show of a night. He could go home, but he was already late, and the idea of facing Wooley’s soft-eyed concern or Trapper’s gentle ribbing was a strangely stifling thought.

The doorman knew Cody, waving him up the elevator with a tired smile, and minutes later Cody stood outside Obi-Wan’s apartment questioning far too many of his life choices. He prided himself on being no-nonsense and level-headed, disinclined to rush into anything without a reasonably solid plan. Improvisation, however, was a Fett speciality, and so Cody rapped his knuckles on the wood once, twice.

It swung open almost immediately, Cody stepping back on an impulse. Obi-Wan, collected as ever, barely even blinked at the unannounced visitor, ushering him in.

“I’m afraid I was unprepared for company, but I can get you some tea?”

Cody, who had seen the monstrous tower of tea in Obi-Wan’s kitchen, shook his head in amusement. “I’m okay. Thank you, though.” Familiar with the apartment after years of friendship, he poured himself a glass of water before settling at the counter with a sigh. Leaning one hip next to the stove as he waited on the water to boil, Obi-Wan eyed him closely. “May I ask _why_ you’re here or is that question best left for after a glass of whiskey?”

Not trusting himself to drink around Obi-Wan at the moment, Cody laughed quietly. “Careful, Kenobi. It almost sounds like you want me drunk.”

Obi-Wan had long perfected that perfect arch of the brow, flirtatious, sauve, and just shy of arrogant. Cody didn’t take it to heart — Obi-Wan’s default setting was _shameless flirt_. “An excellent deflection, Chief, but you should know better than to try that on me.”

“I forgot,” Cody deadpanned. “You Kenobi-Skywalkers are experts at emotional suppression.”

“Pot, kettle,” Obi-Wan returned, flippant. “Besides, I’ll have you know Ahsoka turned out remarkably well-adjusted for having been raised by the both of us.”

“She’s a good kid, but we all know that was all Padmé.”

Obi-Wan’s smile went soft at the edges. “She’s hardly a kid anymore, Cody, she’s twenty-one.”

“And one of the best damn firefighters I’ve seen at her age. That doesn’t change how young she is. Rex calls her _vod'ika_ when he thinks she can’t hear.”

“Rex is barely older than her. And you, _burc'ya_ , have almost managed to distract me.”

 _So close._ Nevermind that hearing Mando’a roll off Kenobi’s tongue did strange things to Cody’s heart.

He was a fool to come here.

In lieu of an answer, Cody made his way to the balcony he’d gazed up at only minutes ago. Outside, he pulled an almost-empty lighter and a battered pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He hated the things, and only made a habit of them in the loosest sense of the word, but they were easy for the times when his hands shook and his brain felt like it didn't quite fit its pale, bone cage.

“It’s one of those nights, then,” Obi-Wan said from behind, freshly-brewed cup of tea clutched in both hands. He joined Cody at the railing, leaning against it in that too-casual way of his. “Those things will kill you, you know.”

The rare times Cody smoked in front of Obi-Wan, it was always the same argument; he was beginning to suspect Obi-Wan did it less out of a paramedic’s sensibilities and more out of his desire to be a little shit whenever possible. As always, Cody simply blew the smoke out the corner of his mouth, away from Obi-Wan, and replied, “A dedicated porg could kill you if you let it.”

Another step in their well-versed argument. Obi-Wan, however, rewrote the rules as he plucked the cigarette out of Cody’s lax grip. Rather than throw it over the railing, he raised it to his lips, taking a long, expert drag. Cody’s brows shot up. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t bother parroting Obi-Wan’s own words back at him, only stared until Obi-Wan offered up a guilty explanation. “I used to smoke, years ago.”

“When’d you kick it?”

“When Satine got pregnant.”

 _That_ made Cody’s brows shoot up. He had heard a little bit about their relationship from Skywalker, but he’d always assumed the man’s jokes about “Obi’s son” were just that… jokes. Obi-Wan himself rarely spoke of Kryze, and at no point in the past three and a half years had Cody summoned up the courage to ask what really happened there.

Obi-Wan’s voice was full of the same dry humor as always but he wouldn’t look at Cody, letting the smoke curl from his lips as he fixed his sights on the sidewalk below.

“How long has it been?”

He seemed to know what Cody was asking. “Korkie just turned seventeen last month.”

Cody swore under his breath, even as he mentally counted backwards. “You were eighteen?”

Tapping the cigarette on the railing just to watch the ash fall, Obi-Wan didn’t answer. It was a stupid question anyways. Cody struggled to find something to say, something to break the stillness that had fallen over them, but Obi-Wan had probably heard it all by now.

Painted in the light from the apartment, Obi-Wan’s hair looked darker than usual, a deep russet against his pale skin. His profile, barely-illuminated, was striking as ever, serene strength written into the line of his nose, his chin, his brow. Cody’s throat went dry and he quietly coughed, earning himself a quick, sideways glance of those blue, blue eyes. Obi-Wan was nervous, he realized, about what he’d just revealed.

In an instant, every last ache in Cody’s heart spilled over to the tip of his tongue, throat thick with so many unsaid words. It was a stupid impulse, to mutter, “I suppose, in the interest of honesty…”

 _That_ got Obi-Wan’s attention, the full weight of his gaze settling on Cody, and as suddenly as it had come, his courage fled him. What had he even planned on saying? Everything? A foggy half-truth? He was spared from making that choice when an insistent _ping_ sounded from the kitchen, followed by several more in rapid succession. Recognizing it as the ringtone Obi-Wan had set for the other station members, he nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “Go. We might be needed.”

They weren’t, as it turned out, Obi-Wan slipping back out the balcony door a moment later with the phone pressed to his ear, still-smoking cigarette held loosely in his other hand. “Of course, Captain. The Chief? Yes, he’s here— yes, I’ll tell him.” _Rex,_ he mouthed at Cody, still smiling as he listened to the other end of the line. “Oh dear. Must I use that exact phrasing? … Which sibling, then? … I see … Of course.”

Hanging up, Obi-Wan rather unceremoniously stubbed out the cigarette in the plant-less flower box and turned to Cody with a grim smile. “Rex asked me to pass on a few words. He said you were… let me make sure I get this right.” The man brought a hand to his beard, stroking it thoughtfully as he pretended to consider. “…An inconsiderate _shebs_ who needs to stop pulling a disappearing act on everyone.”

He dropped the mocking tone of rote repetition, rising in pitch from his gravely imitation of Rex’s drawl to his usual voice. “Wooley was worried when you didn’t get home. Apparently they called you and then the station, where you’d left your phone for Rex to find.”

Cody recognized the warning lilt to Obi-Wan’s voice and he scowled. “If you’re planning on lecturing me like a shiny, don’t bother.”

“I’m not lecturing you, Cody, this is my way of asking what’s wrong. It’s not like you to smoke, it’s not like you to show up unannounced on a Tuesday, and it’s _very much_ not like you to vanish on your siblings.”

Bracing his elbows on the railing, he hid his face away in his hands. How was he supposed to go about something like this? Coming here was looking like a worse and worse decision every minute.

But Obi-Wan was waiting on an answer and as his friend, Cody at least owed him that.

“I like men,” He finally settled on, his voice muffled through his palms, fingers pressing into his eyes hard enough he saw swirls of color behind his eyelids. It was barely half of the truth, but admitting to that felt like a good place to start.

“Oh, Cody…” He felt a hand on his back, warm through the fabric of his shirt — he still didn’t look up. There was a pregnant pause; then, “It’s never too late for these kinds of things, _burc'ya."_

There was that word again — _friend._ And that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? Bad enough that Cody be having a sexuality crisis at thirty-five, but he’d gone and fallen in love with one of his dearest friends. Finally lifting his head from his hands, he met Obi-Wan’s eyes, crinkled at the corners with all-too-familiar mirth. “That makes… how many of you Fetts? Four out of seven?”

Against his best intentions, Cody felt a hoarse laugh make its way from his mouth.

“I’m not sure why you’re laughing,” Obi-Wan sighed, though his own suppressed smile gave him away. “This is a nightmare. Your family spits in the face of probable statistics.”

And then Cody’s _really_ laughing, full-bellied and loud, and nothing is actually funny but in the sudden hilarity he feels the stress of the night slipping from his shoulders. Obi-Wan’s hand is still steady between his shoulder blades and he looks concerned, perhaps, at Cody’s behavior. It’s an easy kind of concern, not weighted by any real worries, and the faint furrow in the man’s brow is more endearing than anything.

“I’m afraid I’m rather obliged to ask,” Obi-Wan murmured, finally pulling away to rest against the railing at his back, “If there was anyone in particular who brought this on.”

His gentle prodding is only a joke. Cody knows he could laugh it off and Obi-Wan, too polite to press the issue, would simply smile that enigmatic smile of his and divert conversation to another subject.

“I suppose, in the interest of honesty…”

The words once again make Obi-Wan’s gaze sharpen, though he hides it well behind a mask of wry, detached interest. Cody’s stomach is doing its best to turn itself inside out and his palms are sweating and he’s so, so far out of his comfort zone but he refuses to think of what he has to lose.

“You.”

The silence that follows is looming, absolute. Even the distant noise of traffic faded, far outside the tense little bubble Cody had built with one word. Until—

" _Cody."_

It was like watching an actor drop out of character. The relief, the want, the _love_ scrawled over every line in Obi-Wan’s face hit Cody like a punch to the gut.

He didn’t remember moving, pressing close. One moment they stood apart, far too much air between them, and the next there was no space at all.

It’s awkward, for just a second, noses and too much teeth and they’re both smiling into the kiss, but then they make it work and _Little Gods_ … Obi-Wan’s beard was just as scratchy as Cody might have imagined, so different from the soft press of his lips, and he had a hand on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, pulling him down those scant few inches between them even as he rocked onto the balls of his feet to help close the distance.

Too soon, they draw apart, outside noises filtering back into Cody’s consciousness as he stared at Obi-Wan, wide-eyed. “How long have you wanted to do that?”

“Too long, _cyare._ Too long.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Why does every fic I ever write run away from me? this was *not* supposed to be 5.5k words...  
> I listened to way too much hozier and the nbhd when I wrote this like the dumb bisexual I am. Sue me.
> 
> Consider this your friendly reminder that, if you're talking live action, temuera morrison is a short king and obi has about four inches of height on cody.


End file.
